Imperfection: Goldilocks and the Three Bears
by Crystalwren
Summary: Gonzoverse. Integra is snowbound in the mountains, trapped with five monsters and only one of these isn't human. Some NC and a very dark Walter.
1. Chapter 1

The explosion was violent and sudden.

A crack like a lightning strike; flame; screams and the roar of the avalanche. Tonnes of compacted snow and ice fell between their car and their escort, falling on the bonnet with a jolt that sent Walter's face into the steering wheel with a wet thud. She pushed on the inside of the car door, pushed and pushed until it opened enough for her to squeeze through into the snow, slogging and kicking chunks of ice aside with her boots so that she could clear a path to the drivers' side door. She pulled it open; she said his name and she could tell by the way he stared at her through the blood in his eyes that he didn't understand her or even know who she was. She pulled a shard of glass from his cheek, the remains of his monocle and when she heard the ominous creaking in the cliffs above them she knew that they couldn't stay there.

Fur coats in the boot, fur mittens to draw over the silk gloves cold had forced her to wear, and Walter's mysterious valise that he never travelled anywhere without. She put on her coat and fought Walter's drunken resistance to put his on him too. She draped his arm around her shoulders, held the valise tight against her body and as they staggered away the snow fell again, entombing their car and the soldiers that had been escorting them.

Night came quickly. So did Alucard. He wrapped them in the darkness of his cloak and his embrace was colder than snow, colder than ice, colder than death because he'd passed through that and had reached the other side.

She asked him –what happened to the soldiers? The escort? Did any of them survive?-

He replied –Master, they all did, they are all completely unharmed- and she knew then that she'd been betrayed and that she had walked straight into the trap set for her.

So Alucard carried them to safety, a wooden house surrounded and covered with drifts so high and so deep that only the very top of the roof and the chimney were showing and she held Walter as he swayed, watched the vampire as he cleared the path to the door with claws as long as her limbs. Inside the house was clean and vacant, a frugal little holiday home perhaps, or maybe a hunter's lodge. There was wood by the fireplace, a great heaping stack of it, and kindling and newspapers in a language she couldn't read and an old-fashioned flint tinder-box. She took off her gloves but her hands were frozen and she kept fumbling and dropping the flint until Alucard clicked his tongue and pushed her aside to light the fire himself. She left him to take care of Walter, to remove sodden furs and boots and upstairs she found an attic room with three beds made up with blankets and sheets – who's been sleeping in my bed, Papa Bear? - she thought, hysteria winding a thin edge through her brain and she pulled the musty-smelling cloth into a heaping armload and stumbled back downstairs.

-you let him go to sleep?- she almost screamed when she saw Walter, stripped to trousers and shirtsleeves and face clean of blood, sprawled on a chair and dead to the world.

-he fell asleep suddenly- snapped Alucard –I couldn't wake him- and no matter how much she shook or slapped the old man she couldn't either. Her very bones ached with cold and weariness and the urge to sleep was so strong she shook with it. Walter began to shiver and she took off her blazer and her boots, and hung them all to dry with the fur coats.

She said to Alucard –find our enemies. Spy on them. Learn what their plans are, but don't let them know you're there-

The vampire bowed with his hand over his heart and melted as she made a nest of the blankets on the floor in front of the fire. She pulled, dragged and pushed Walter into them and collapsed beside him. She tugged the material to cover the both of them and fell immediately into dreams.

The fire had dimmed to embers when she woke again and she thought that it was that, that it was what had woken her, but then she heard and felt Walter stir and mutter beside her and she knew that it was him. Somehow she had rolled over in her sleep and he'd rolled over in his, and he had flung his limbs over hers and he gripped her forearm so tightly it was going numb. She said his name –Walter- and tried to move but he had her pinned down so well that she felt a wave of fear and fumbled for her gun with her free hand. His hips moved and something pressed into the small of her back –Walter? - and he spoke again, one word, slurring it so she couldn't make out what it was. Fear, and something she vaguely recognised as desire made a knot in her lower belly and she realised that on some sad childish little level that she was enjoying it, wasn't she, because the last person who'd laid so much as a finger on her had been the coldly impersonal woman who had come to the mansion months ago to fit her brassieres. She sometimes thought she was starved for touch, but who was going to touch her? No one that's who, no human who would touch her and there was no human she could touch. Before she could decide, before she could say -yes- or –no- Walter said that word and she thought she recognised her mother's name. She felt his mouth on her shoulder, teeth, and sudden revulsion made her flinch away, leaving him with a mouthful of blouse and hair. He grunted and rocked his hips against her back and his hand tightened on her arm until she felt the bones creak. He shuddered. He said the name. He sighed and relaxed and she knew by his breath on her neck that he had moved into a deeper sleep.

She waited for a while, tense and miserable, until eventually she crawled out of his arms and out of the blankets to put more wood on the fire. She shivered. She didn't want to sleep next to him. She didn't want to be part of his dreaming. She didn't have a choice. It was Walter or freeze to death. Soon enough she crept back to him, and tucked a fold of blanket between their bodies.

Again she slept. Again she woke suddenly. Alucard was leaning over Walter and herself, sniffing, sniffing like a dog on the scent, sniffing thoughtfully with his mouth open so he could taste the air as well as smell it.

She hissed at the vampire to –stop that-

He looked at her with the most serene expression and asked –would you like me to kill him?- in the same tones that anyone else would use to ask if she wanted a cup of tea.

-no- she snapped

-sure?-

She snarled and kicked free of the blankets. Walter grunted in his sleep when her feet struck him, but she took no notice. She pulled on her boots and her furs, cursing the way her breath steamed in the air and knelt beside the glowing coals, thanking God for survival training, for learning how to make fires and trap rabbits and dress wounds, and she realised suddenly that she was intensely, ravenously hungry, that she hadn't eaten for –forever- she wanted to ask –how long have we been here?- but she knew better because Alucard's sense of time was so erratic that he had trouble remembering what year it was, let alone what day or week. She examined the house: one main living room that took most of the lower floor. Ancient, decrepit lounges arranged before the fire on a comfortable rug. A door to the side and a door to the back and behind the latter she found a freezing chemical toilet, which she gratefully used.

In the little room that was the kitchen she discovered a large potbellied stove connected to a many-branching pipe system and she examined it closely. The potbelly doubled as a kitchen stove and a central heating device. She managed to get it going, but not before she burned her hand, a long line of blisters from the knuckle of her little finger to her wrist. In the pantry she found candles, the shells of cockroaches dead from lingering poisons; cobwebs; a hessian bag of oats seething with weevils; tins with little pictures of sausages on the labels. She grabbed one of these and set it on the bench, saliva filling her mouth with a great gush as she rattled through the drawers looking for a tin opener.

She pried open the top of the tin and spooned out some of the quivering meat and jelly. It looked foul and smelled worse and she forced herself to take a bite and chew carefully, swallow. One bite followed another and she found herself shoving heaping spoonfuls of the stuff into her mouth, one after the other, frantic, desperate to eat as much as she could as quickly as she could and then suddenly her stomach twisted so violently that she dropped the tin and doubled over, falling to the floor with clenched teeth as she struggled not to vomit. Alucard sat beside her, crooning something in a guttural dead language, and as the spasm lessened he picked up her hand in his. She felt a series of sharp stings and she realised that he was puncturing the blisters with his fangs and licking away the fluids. She let him. She supposed he deserved something.

When he was done she picked herself up and finished off the goo in the tin, little swallows against her rising gorge. More searching saw her find a large saucepan that she carried outside. The sunlight off the snow was blinding and she found tears streaming down her face as she packed the saucepan full of the stuff, because the light hurt, and because it was beautiful and because she felt, for some unaccountable reason, sad. A huge pile of wood by the door, only partially uncovered, and she knew that they had shelter, water, food and warmth, and that they would live provided that the enemy didn't find them.

She set the saucepan on the potbelly and when it was melted she shut the door and firmly forbade Alucard from entering –watch Walter and tell me if he wakes up- and turned the single, spotted mirror to the wall. She stripped and bathed herself by the warmth of the stove, one limb at a time, with a towel and a bit of soap she'd found in the sink. She was covered in bruises. Little brown ones. Huge, green-blue ones the size of her palm. A beautifully defined handprint on her forearm. She saw that and felt filthy all over, even the parts that she'd already washed. She glimpsed a flash of red in the reflective surface of the saucepan and she cursed herself because she hadn't thought to cover it. Not enough water to wash her hair, so she combed it with her fingers into a greasy braid and tied it with a piece of string.

After she was done, she sent Alucard away again to spy on the people looking for them and she knelt beside her retainer –Walter, are you okay?- and gave his shoulder a tentative shake. He did not stir. A long strand of gold trailed from his lips and she reached to pull it out.

He snapped awake and grabbed her hand and stared at her coldly, face barbaric and brutal under the bruises and the grey curtains of his hair, stigmatic eye rolled so far back in its socket that only the white was showing –there is a hair in your mouth- she said and he stared at her like she was a stranger. When she asked him –how are you feeling?- he didn't answer, but when she told him to let go of her hand he did –are you hungry?- and he shook his head and laid back down. He went back to sleep, or at least pretended to, and she rocked back on her heels, watching him, exhausted.

She explored further. A second door in the back led to cupboard with a tin hipbath and a few musty sacks of dried grains. Alucard returned while she was attempting to make some sort of porridge, and laughed at her. He easily shoved her aside and took over, while she stared at him bemusedly.

-why so surprised, Integra? I cooked for Jonathon Harker, don't you remember? It's in the book-

-and so's what you did to him-

-he lived, didn't he?-

-not for lack of you trying-

He snickered, and told her -men are coming. Hunters, not soldiers, and I think that they own this house. They bring a blizzard with them. Our enemies are still looking, but they are looking in the wrong direction. They don't know about me- and he gave her a handgun that he had stolen from them and clips of ammunition too.

It was getting warmer inside the house. She left Alucard to his pans, trusting that he –will not poison Walter and myself, thank you very much- and slipped off her furs and put on her blazer. She loaded both of her guns and settled down on the lounge to wait for their unwitting hosts. Despite herself, she dozed off, and that's how the three bears discovered Goldilocks.

She started awake when something thumped against the door. The wind was howling mournfully, the blizzard just begun. The door opened and three people came tumbling in, bulky and ursine in bright synthetic jackets. They stopped short at the sight of the handgun she had pointed at them, and jumped when the massive hound, polydactyl and glossy red-black by the firelight, snarled and bared its teeth. A word from her stopped it short and instead it grinned at them, a horrible predatory smile. One of the bears shouldered the door shut with little eddies of snow swirling around his feet while the others pulled back their hoods and scarves to gape at the tableau before them, red-black coloured dog, honey and coffee-cream coloured teenager, unconscious man on the floor between the two.

-whence cometh thou? Wither goeth thou?- they spoke to her in their own language and she had to shake her head to tell them that she didn't understand. One of them held a brace of pheasants; another a string of rabbits and the third had a carcass of a fawn over one shoulder. All three carried hunting rifles, but it obviously didn't occur to them to actually use these on their intruders. Finally one of the bears unloaded his burdens and stripped off his coat and mittens and his brothers followed suit. Without their hoods they were dark-eyed and dark-haired, gypsy-handsome and the eldest barely touched thirty. This one knelt with her in front of the fire, and while the other two conferred in the kitchen she tried her best, with gestures and crude charcoal drawings on the bare floorboards, to explain how she and Walter and her unusual pet came to be there. The man frowned at her; doubtless her explanation was lacking a great deal but the snow and wind had rendered his little portable radio useless and none of them were going anywhere until the blizzard cleared. The man cleaned some of his rabbits, tossing heads and viscera at the hound that snatched the little offerings from midair and crunched the skulls between its formidable teeth.

When the man pointed first at her and then Walter, miming rocking a baby in his arms she snorted before she could help herself. A word arrived in her head – unchi- and she said it without thinking. The man nodded and touched his chest and said his name. She gave him hers in return, but she had already christened him and his brothers in her mind: Youngest, Middle, Eldest.

The eldest carried his rabbits into the kitchen and the house was gradually filled with the smell of roasting meat. She looked at the hound- that radio has got to go- she thought and she gently, gradually roused Walter from his heavy slumber. She did her best to explain to him where they were, and why, but she was uncertain that he actually understood what she was saying. They ate rabbit and grain porridge with their hosts, together beside the fire. Youngest kept staring at her and whenever she met his eyes he smiled. For the most part she ignored him and concentrated on holding bowl and spoon for Walter instead. When it came time for them all to sleep she gave back most of the blankets, since the house was warm and, ignoring the way her skin crawled, curled up next to Walter under their furs.

In the dark she heard the hound growl softly at footsteps on the stairs. She tracked the sound of boot sole against floorboards until she heard a door open and shut. The freezing, noisome chemical toilet. Despite her desperate tension, the wind soon lulled her to sleep.

She woke to the sound of the hound chuffing in canine amusement. Fumbling with her glasses she saw Youngest kneeling beside Walter's valise, staring at his sliced fingers. The malicious old git had hidden razorblades in the clasp. Eventually Youngest rallied himself enough to produce a battered little medical kit and she used this to clean and bandage his wounds, and all the while he stared at her breasts underneath the soiled silk of her blouse so that she wished that she hadn't taken her brassiere off to sleep. He smiled at her when she was done and tried to catch her fingers but he only succeeded in squeezing the side of her hand. Something popped and oozed yellowish, pinkish goo. Her burns had become infected. He squeaked and scuttled off, leaving her to muse upon the type of man who would kill, disembowel and disjoint a deer without batting an eyelash but would flee in terror at the sight of a little pus.

That day, that night, impossible to tell for the blizzard and the drifts reaching up to cover the windows and the doors, was spent by all of them napping, she on the lounge in front of the fire as the red-black hound watched them all. It barely moved, except to thoughtfully lick a many-toed paw. It followed her to the toilet and sat outside the door, waiting. She was woken once by a loud bang and Eldest spitting what were doubtless expletives at the smoking radio. The hound caught her eye and nodded faintly, and just as faintly, she nodded back.

During a brief lull in the wind Walter suddenly threw off the furs and bolted to his feet. He stared about wildly, not knowing where he was. She didn't move from her place on the lounge, but she watched him carefully and wished that she'd thought to take his rings off him. Eventually he settled and once again she spoke to him, of snow and betrayal, explosions and avalanches. He warily accepted a plate of rabbit from Middle, and she tried not to watch his shaking hands or wonder what they could mean. The knot on his forehead was still black and vicious but she took heart in the way the many little cuts on his face had all but disappeared. He cleaned the blood away from the handle of his valise -people learn the hard way- and his voice rasped like sandpaper as he fiddled with a small plastic black box before packing it away again. He produced a pair of glasses, which he said hurt his eyes and couldn't wear, a miniature magnetic chess set and his own medical kit. He took her hand without permission and the barely perceptible twitches she made while he cleaned her infected burns were not entirely from pain. He made a crude eye patch from a black handkerchief, watching narrowly as she played chess with Middle and deliberately lost.

Walter began to sway and she packed up the board as the three bears trooped upstairs. She forced herself to lie down next to her butler. He flinched away from her and she noted that he didn't smell too good. Come to think of it, neither did her. She listened to the chatter upstairs and wondered if they were talking about her.

When next she woke up it was to the thump of Middle dumping an armload of wood next to the fire. He leered at her as she lay sleepy next to her retainer –they think Walter is your lover- and she bolted upright in horror. The hound looked at her calmly and the words that only she could hear arrived in her head –rich furs, you see, silk gloves and your elegantly tailored slacks and blouse, every inch the indulged girl, the kept girl, you as Dolores and Walter as Humbert Humbert- she rolled free of the blankets and stormed off towards the toilet. She aimed a kick at the hound as she walked past and it made a sound between a grunt and a purr –you told them he is your uncle, but frankly they don't believe you- she could have spat. She came face-to-face with Middle on her way out and he planted an arm either side of her against the wall to trap her. She ducked under his elbow and caught sight of Walter sitting up and glowering at the both of them. She didn't care to explain.

She sought shelter in the kitchen with Eldest, watching as he cooked the last of the rabbit. He handed her a bowl of porridge, the proper sort made from oats and she ate it, trying not to think of the weevils she had seen in the hessian bag. Youngest asked her, with exaggerated gestures and mockingly elaborate bows to re-bandage his fingers and she did so under the watchful eyes of his brother, but when he tried to return the favour the hound peered around the doorjamb and growled at them both –foolishness- she told it, and was ignored. It bared its teeth at Youngest, so many big white teeth that it didn't seem possible that they all could fit into its mouth. Eldest threw rabbit bones at it and as it crunched it glared at Youngest as though wondering what he'd taste like. The two brothers spoke quietly together as they stared at the hound, remarking, no doubt, on its size, its six-toed paws with thumb-like dewclaws, its ferocity and apparent intelligence. It preened under their combined fear and admiration –vain beast- she told it as she walked past. She gave a bowl of porridge to Walter and debated telling him about the weevils, but some inner malice stopped her. She waited while he ate, wondering what he remembered from the first night they were there, scratching her oily scalp, feeling little pimples burst underneath her fingernails.

She told him –I want a bath- and unsteady on his feet he helped her to drag the tin hip-bath into the kitchen. They spent an hour taking snow from the wall built up in front of the door and melting it as their hosts watched in amusement. From his valise Walter produced toothbrushes and toothpaste and soap, proper bath soap and she all but pounced on them. She pushed Walter out of the kitchen and once more turned the mirror to the wall. She sat in the delicious warm water and bathed gratefully, washing her hair and her blouse and her underwear and sponged the insides of her blazer, sitting naked in her fur coat until they dried. She quickly gave up trying to brush her long hair and quickly bound it back, knots and all. When her clothes were dry she helped Walter melt more snow for his own bath and after that, more snow for the three brothers as well. Between the five of them it took hours and by the time they were done they were all ready to sleep again. Walter turned away when she lay down next to him and it was a long time before she fell dreaming.

Walter was playing chess with Eldest when she woke again. She felt irritation crawl up her spine like a nest full of ants and she knew that if she didn't get out of there she was going to go insane.

She decided to dig. The blizzard had calmed for the time being although no one doubted it would rage again soon. She donned her blazer and her mittens and heavy boots and opened the front door to the hollow they had made in the snow the day before. She slipped inside, to begin digging a snow-tunnel just the way she used to when she was a little girl, and soon enough, a hand grabbed hold of her ankle and hauled her out, just the way Walter used to when he felt she was getting too ahead of herself. He wanted to know if she had her handgun –wolves and the enemy, come back when you start to get cold- and she meekly said that she would. She didn't point out the obvious, that wolves were Alucard's familiars and that as long as she was his master they'd never hurt her, would protect her from any threat instead.

She dug and dug for what seemed like hours, until she felt warm and she sweated, scrabbling with her hands and pushing and compacting with her knees and back. She only wanted to go in one direction, up, and eventually the snow began to lighten as the light seeped through. She burst through the crust and whimpered at the blaze of sunlight reflected off the brilliant white. She clawed out of her tunnel, whooping for joy. The hound followed soon after, slipping out easily, stretching into a man. She fell back into the snow, exhilarated by the cold, sinking into it, kicking chunks of it this way and that. She let her mind fill with thoughts of relief about being out from under the combined stare of Walter and the three brothers, out from the dim, noisome little house, put into open space and freedom. She thought of her aching eyes and hands and that's why Alucard had no idea about the snowball until it smacked him in the mouth. She howled with laughter as he stared at her in astonishment –not fair, Master – and could only barely suppress the urge to throw another. With regret she felt the ice seep into her toes and the wind beginning to build again and knew that she had to go back.

She slid inside –you'd better not look at my arse-

-why on earth would you think I'd do a thing like that?-

She fell out the other side, flushed and laughing, the hound close behind. Walter looked up to see her happy and almost cracked a smile himself as he moved checkmate against Eldest. She slept and when she woke up Walter was beside her and the room was dim and empty except for the fire and the hound's glowing eyes. In the kitchen, sitting on the floor next to the pot-belly's lingering warmth she rolled up her sleave to reveal the handprint-bruise, still vivid, unfaded. Alucard came to sit in front of her, his expression intent.

-bruises are formed by blood pooling under the skin, aren't they?- and she offered her arm to him. Gently, tenderly, he made a hundred tiny cuts with his fangs and waited for the blood to seep through. He lapped at it, and she felt something in her groin twist at the softness of his hair brushing the sensitive skin in the crook of her elbow.

-does Walter remember what happened?-

-vaguely. He thinks perhaps he dreamed it-

-then why is he angry?-

-because he worries that it might have been real-

-has he asked you?-

-no-

-was it me that he- she falters, and the vampire says

-no. It wasn't you he dreamed of- and for some reason she could not name she felt like crying. Alucard snorted derisively against her skin and she felt the stinging itch as he closed the many tiny wounds.

-if he asks, you'll tell him he was dreaming, that it didn't happen-

-are you sure? Is that what you really want?-

-yes- and she buttoned up her sleave and went back to her blankets and furs, to Walter, and sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

There was a pimple on her chin.

She could feel it there, squatting huge and malevolent in her skin. She'd always been lucky in that she was not as prone to breaking out like others of her own age, although thinking about it, luck probably didn't have nearly as much to do with it as Walter's iron control of her diet.

Walter's private little war on her complexion was something that had started when she was thirteen and it had continued every day since. Breakouts would see him drastically rearranging her schedule for visits from beauticians and bruising facials. Scrubs and foams and potions would appear on her bathroom vanity unit with depressing regularity, complete with detailed written instructions. Occasionally he would take the drastic measure of seizing her chin between thumb and forefinger and painting her face with powders and sticks of thick colours. There were many things One Did Not Ask Walter, not the least of which included asking where he had learned to so skilfully paint a woman's face.

Subsequent to all this she found Walter's apathy to the newly-risen blemish on her chin somewhat alarming.

It itched, so she turned the kitchen mirror back to face her and found a relatively smooth section that gave her reflection enough to pop it. As pus squirted onto the glass and blood began to trickle she realised that, even by her own highly erratic standards, her menstruation was late.

Her burn was refusing to heal.

Her ice tunnel went around the entire house, extending out in several directions. Her knees were black from layered bruises. Her back ached. The blizzard still raged. None of them had any idea how long it had been going for. Day and night were meaningless. With gestures and borrowed words they tried to figure out how long it had been. They all agreed it had been about a week, but that was just a guess. They were all developing a severe case of cabin fever. Middle and Youngest watched her constantly. An invisible umbilical cord had sprung up between the hound and herself, resulting in the near attachment of its neck to her hip. It followed her everywhere. It lay across the toilet door when she was inside, and had nearly shoved its way into the kitchen when she decided to take a bath. While she had cleansed herself she had seen flashes of red all around her as it fought imperfect surfaces and poor reflections.

Without a doubt it was getting hungry. Periodically it would scratch at the door and periodically it would be let out to clamber up through the tunnel she'd made, to break through the crust of snow and hunt for animals in the dark. It wasn't fond of animal blood but beggars can't be choosers since Walter was too weak to share his and she simply refused. It seemed the height of rudeness to let it snack on their hosts, especially since her little party were uninvited guests in the first place.

She dug her tunnels. She napped. She tried to work the tangles out of her matted and brittle hair. Middle occasionally made motions to help and was firmly slapped down by Eldest. She played chess, deliberately losing to all three of the brothers although it took a fair amount of skill not to win against the younger two as they played with astonishing ineptness. Eldest wasn't too bad. Walter had trounced her repeatedly without even trying. She bathed and sponged clean her underwear. When she finally escaped from the house she gleefully planed to burn those garments and her blouse too.

Opening the kitchen door she promptly tripped over the hound and went sprawling headlong into the ground. Someone grabbed her arm and righted her. She looked up as the hound snarled and Youngest smiled and offered her a lopsided newspaper origami flower. She stared at it for a startled few seconds, and then, holding her breath, reached out to take it. The hound jumped up and mouthed her hand, growling –grrrrah!- a fully unpleasant sensation because the inside of the hound's mouth felt exactly like what it was: cold, slimy dead meat. She snatched her hand away and brought it down hard across the hound's snout. It responded by rocking back on its haunches and letting loose a wild, maddening howl. Youngest clamped his hands over his ears, paper flower crushed as he stumbled away, fleeing upstairs. She slapped the hound a second time and it glowered at her. She met its eyes steadily and it wasn't long before it whined and submitted, grovelling on its belly. She grabbed it by the scruff of its neck and hauled it towards the front door, opening it before kicking the hound hard in the backside and slamming the door shut behind it. Sighing, she went and sat on the lounge. Walter was staring at her.

-that was perhaps unwise-

She ignored him –no one's ever tried to give me a flower before- she felt wistful, and a little sad. She napped.

Screams. She bolted upright. Middle was babbling loudly and she shook her head to free it of cobwebbed dreams.

-what's going on?-

Walter had the kind of too-calm expression that meant that he was very, very angry –the wind died down, so Tweedledum here went outside to see if the blizzard had finally stopped. He saw- Walter stopped. He took a controlled breath -perhaps you had better go see for yourself, Lady Hellsing- he motioned at the door and obediently she put on her heavy coat.

She slithered into her tunnel, noting with displeasure the little marks on the walls that meant someone else had been there. She thought of the tunnels as her own private space, even though she knew it was silly of her. She climbed up and out, into sleight-grey light. The clouds seemed so close that she had only to jump up and touch them, so thick and solid it seemed that they might come falling out of the sky. The dimness was a thankful thing, because it muted the colours and made the whole tableau a small fraction less terrible.

The doe had died a horrible death. A doe without a doubt, because over there was the uterus with foetus bulging through rents in the muscle. The head had been wedged in the fork of the tree, staring, staring, bewilderment in its frozen eyes. The tongue ripped out, laid carefully across the snout. The carcass impaled on a branch. Organs scattered around in random patterns. At her feet, a delicate rosette arranged from the small intestines.

No blood. No blood at all.

Her gorge rose and she retched. She clamped a hand over her mouth and doubled over. She closed her eyes and shook.

-your orders?-

Alucard stood before her. He wore a coat, identical to the cut and make of her own, but instead of brown chinchilla fur, his was the texture and colour of red deer.

-what are your orders, my Master?-

He grinned. He gestured at the intestine arrangement.

-I made you a flower, see? Don't you like it?-

She shuddered. Her legs gave way and she fell to her knees. She spoke and it seemed like her voice was coming from far away.

-I see it. It's very pretty-

-I made it for you. I made you a flower, to make you happy. Does it make you happy, Master?-

-yes. It makes me happy-

-Master, I see the truth in your mind. You are not happy, and you are lying. I did my best. There were no flowers so I had to make one. There were only green boughs and deer. Deer have such pretty colours on the inside-

-yes, I see. I see that you did your best-

He smiled, and brushed his hair out of his face. The sigils burned into the back of his hands glowed.

-I want to do my best for you, Master. I want to make you happy. Tell me how I might make you happy-

She gazed at him numbly. After a while it occurred to her that the intestines stank terribly and that her knees were freezing. With difficultly she stood.

-it would make me happy if you look for the enemy. Spy on them again. Make sure they don't come any closer- she shuddered –you may feed off them if you are careful not to kill, not to make any slaves, they are not to know you are there-

-yes, my Master- he crooned –Master, my pretty Master, I gave you a pretty flower- she started as a deafening howl rang out somewhere nearby.

-take that thing down!- she screamed, pointing at the deer carcass. He reached up and tore the branch off the tree with one hand. Wolves were circling, grey shadows in the twilight, snarling, whining, whimpering. They slunk towards Alucard on their bellies with tongues lolling and their tails between their legs.

-my children- he said –my children will watch you while I'm gone. My children, my hungry children, I have meat for you-

-leave- she said, shaking with something between fear and rage. He bowed.

-Master- he fell into a thousand pieces and flew away on tiny wings.

She backed into her tunnel, but the wolves weren't looking at her. They fell on the carcass of the poor doe and took it to shreds. She watched until Walter called her name and she went back into the warmth.

Middle was being harangued by his brothers –they don't believe him- said Walter, a trifle smugly. Eldest delivered a smack across the side of his younger brother's head and stormed off towards the door, throwing on his neon parker as he went. He returned quickly, chattering –wolves, he says, it's only wolves making a mess outside, stupid brother to panic over a wolf kill- Walter smiled grimly and Eldest fumbled with his rifle, but the wind was rising sharply and there was really no point going outside.

Eventually, Middle settled and they ate a silent meal together, sitting on the lounges and on the floor, eating those horrible little sausages and jelly straight out of the tin. She was too tired to care and as soon as they were finished they all went to bed. She took off her brassiere and stuffed it into her blazer pocket while Walter arranged their fur coats and blankets. They lay back-to-back for a long time. She shivered even though she wasn't cold and she waited until his breath became shallow and even, with just a faint rasp. She knew then that he was sleeping and she turned over and timidly snuggled against his back. She shut her eyes tight and lay there, furtively, guiltily, and she was just drifting off when she heard something scrape across the floor and call her name. She rolled over to see.

-Integra-

Uncle Richard, impaled, branch thrust through his body and coming out through his mouth. One-armed and half his skull blown away to show the brain and wolves lapped at the blood that trickled down.

-Integra- wolves circling around -Integra- his mouth working around the wood –Integra- wolves, wolves, slinking towards her, little grey ones long-limbed and lithe, a big red one, six red eyes and polydactyl –Integra- big red opening its jaws, teeth, jaws within jaws spinning and revolving teeth sharp white teeth all the better to eat her with –Integra!-

She woke up. Walter was leaning over, saying her name, over and over.

-what's the matter? Why are you shaking?-

She said, very quietly –I had a nightmare-

He hovered there, for the longest time. Eventually he sighed. He gathered her up in his arms and he held her very carefully against his chest as he rocked her back to sleep.

He woke her. He gently shook her until she sat up and blinked at him with sleepy myopia. The sound of hardcore snoring rattled the ceiling above them as he threw wood on the fire and lit precious candles so that the room was almost bright. From the unfathomable depths of his valise he took a comb and a little vial of hand cream and seated himself behind her. He touched her matted and brittle hair and slowly, moving from the ends up, worked the comb through the knots and snarls, using tiny smudges of the hand cream to stop the strands from breaking. He clicked his tongue when she stole a little of the cream for herself, but said nothing when she limited it to soothing her chapped lips. The brushing of her hair was a long and tortuous process. She had washed it only with harsh soap and had given up completely trying to comb it, had eventually tied it back and tried to forget about it. Walter was strangely gentle. The sensation, even allowing for the inevitable tugging, was rather pleasurable and she hummed a little as she rested her chin on her knees. Soon enough, a series of crashes shook the building and he stopped, instead quickly braiding the free strands and binding then with string.

-why did you stop? You haven't finished yet-

-it would be inappropriate for me to continue with an audience-

-why? How would it be inappropriate?-

The door on the landing opened and the first of the three brothers stumbled downstairs. Walter opened his mouth to speak, clearly annoyed, but then his face changed and took on a peculiar cast of mingled patience and resignation –you'll understand when you're older- he got up and walked into the kitchen, leaving her to tie back the rest of her hair. She performed the complicated manoeuvre of putting on her bra without taking off her blouse, listening as she did so to the manly grunts of Youngest emptying his bladder. He never, for reasons she didn't understand, closed the toilet door as he did this. Middle came down before she could fasten the last of the buttons and he caught sight of a bare inch and a half of skin between the base of her throat and the silk. He gave her a cheerful leer and she looked at him with exasperation because he'd seen nothing at all, really. From the kitchen came the sudden cry of disgust –weevils!- and she snickered before she could stop herself.

She let Middle go into the toilet before her, and all the while Youngest stood next to her -câine, câine- he repeated the word, over and over. He finally held his hands to his temples and mimed a panting dog and she realised that he was asking about the hound. Middle finished and she shrugged at Youngest before shutting the door in his face. She relieved herself and poured icy water over her hands to cleanse them. She decided that at least some small pretence of concern over the whereabouts of the family pet would be appropriate. She tugged at the bandage over her burn. Her hand felt strangely numb and it barely hurt at all.

While Walter was occupied in the kitchen, presumably picking weevils out of the oats one by one, she pulled on her fur coat and mittens and heavy boots. Remembering the wolves she moved one of her handguns to the coat pocket and checked that the other was secure in its ankle holster. She opened the door and slipped out, scrambling up her tunnel and breaking the crust. The snow was falling softly and thickly and there was no wind at all. Squinting through the snowflakes on her lashes she could just make out the shapes of the fifty metres away. She hauled herself out and onto the drifts but no matter how carefully she tried to walk she kept sinking down. She was breathing heavily by the time she made it to the trees and pushed her way though the heavy boughs of one, an evergreen pine, its dense needles catching the snow and gathering it, forming a cosy, protected little hollow around the trunk. In this space, the first privacy she'd had in forever she did something that everyone does at some time or other, particularly when one is a hormonal teenager. When she finished she shuddered and slumped against the hard wood with a relived sigh. She had the wits to refasten her clothing but otherwise she drifted, thinking idly of doing it again, wondering how it was that she wasn't embarrassed by the memory of Walter's arms around her last night. It was exactly the way Daddy had rocked her to sleep when she was a little girl, and by rights she should have been mortified, letting herself be treated like a silly child.

She snapped into awareness at the crunch of snow outside of her tree. Unmistakably footsteps, one two, one two. Bipedal. A bear? Unlikely. No telltale heaviness at the base of her skull, so it wasn't Alucard. Human, then. She slipped her arm back into her coat sleeve and fingered the handgun in her pocket. She heard him call her name –Laydee Integrrralll- a guttural sing-song. Heavy accent. She wondered which of the three it was – Laydee Integrrrrralll, iubito, scumpul meu- a choice between Youngest or Middle, obviously. Youngest she could probably bluff. Middle she would probably have to shoot. She slipped her palm around the grip and put her thumb on the hammer. She pulled it back with a satisfying click and he sniggered. She waited. Something brushed the heavy branches, heavy lumps of snow slithering off the slick needles.

She heard something growl.

Not the hound. The hound could pack the depths of hell and damnation and promises of torture, defilement, and despair into a single short growl. This growl was something simpler and much more basic. It said, quite eloquently, that it wanted to eat and that fresh and bloody meat happened to be standing right in front of it. Frightened gasps; the clatter of fumbling hands on a rifle, only now discovering that the weapon had been quietly rendered useless even though to all outward appearances it was sound. The bear whimpered and stumbled away through the snow, and she, thinking it was best to wait a while before returning to the house, squatted down on her heels and set the rest of her clothing to rights. She wondered what it would have been like to lie down with the man, whichever one it had been. She listened to her pounding heartbeat and wondered if what she was feeling was desire. She suspected not.

There was movement outside of her little shelter, and as she watched a pale muzzle push under the branches. She aimed the gun. Intellectually she knew that the wolf would not hurt her, but intellect was suddenly drowned in a million years worth of monkey instinct rushing up from her hippocampus. The wolf sniffled and snuffled, and soon withdrew. She waited a little longer, starting to shiver because it really was very cold, until finally she shoved her ay through the branches, cursing when a lump of ice suddenly worked its way in between her collar and her neck. She beat at it, making futile scrapes with her bare hand but she knew she was only making it worse. She glanced up and froze. The wolf was sitting just in front of her, waiting calmly, and what's more, the snowfall had become heavier. She could no longer see the sharp points of the house roof. She could no longer see where she was. She was lost in the snow.

The wolf, creamy coloured and elegant, yawned. The pink mouth was vivid and violent. It trotted up to her, completely unafraid, brushing against her coat, fawning, affectionate. It scrapped at her boots with a narrow paw, and after so long around the monstrous hound, she felt a sense of shock at seeing the delicacy of the claws. It turned abruptly and trotted off, pale coat quickly becoming almost indistinguishable against the snow. She lunged forward, chasing the white-on-white shadow, slogging her way through the drifts, the animal hesitating often, whining encouragement when her clumsy human feet sank into the white and were stuck. It didn't take very long because they weren't all that far from the house after all, and very soon the bitch stopped at a certain spot and dug energetically. The snow tunnel, entrance collapsed in on itself. She forced her way to the animal's side, picking up the compacted chunks and throwing them aside. The entrance was almost clear when she heard the sound of the pack.

The unlikely pair was surrounded by tumbling wolves, long-limbed and lithe, coats in every shade from white to black. The bitch was pushed, nudged away from her while she stood still as not to provoke them. The pack was excited and feral. The creamy bitch was nipped and teased mercilessly while it cringed in submission. She took her gun out of her pocket, gloveless hand blue with cold and pointed at the wolves, uncertain whether she should go to the rescue of her rescuer. She was shaking so much that she could barely aim and she stood there, indecisive, when finally an iron-grey dog lashed out with his teeth. The other wolves scattered away, out of reach of the dog-wolf's fangs, but stayed close. When the dog mounted the bitch she whimpered and pressed her mitten to her face. She was surrounded by filth. She felt dirtied. Dropping to her hands and knees she slithered backwards into the tunnel, unwilling to turn her back on the animals for an instant.


	3. Chapter 3

The walls of compacted snow were roughened by the impatient feet that had been there just before her. There were spots of bright blood. She fell out the other side, straight onto her backside and she had the gun pointed at Walter before she was even aware of his presence. He wasn't impressed, going by the expression on his face -I was just coming to fetch you- she tried to speak but only gasps came out. He reached out, slow and steady movements, and gently pried the gun out of her hands –are you well?- she shook her head miserably. He scowled further. His fur coat and hair falling loose over his cloth eye patch made him look downright barbaric and she flinched without thinking when he grabbed her by the arms and hauled her to her feet. He stripped off her coat and her heavy boots, roughly inspecting her feet –no frostbite there- he took her bare hand, snarling at her blue fingers –no frostbite there either, you were lucky this time, my lady- and stripped the mitten and the glove off of the other. He picked at the bandage wrapped around it. She found her voice at last.

-it's fine, not cold at all-

-have you been cleaning your wound?-

-yes, every day, it's fine-

-stay there-

He pulled off his fur and draped it over her shoulders because she was still shivering. He said –you're soaked. Get undressed and cover yourself up- she looked frantically around for the three brothers –they're all upstairs, seems one of them had an encounter with the wolves and has a nice hole in his leg- she pulled the coat tighter around herself.

-turn your back-

-why?-

-I said turn your back!-

-why? Will I see something that shouldn't be there?-

-that's an order!-

He clicked his tongue and went to fetch the medical kit. She stood with her back turned to him and stripped off her blazer and blouse. Her slacks were soaked so she took them off too, leaving her only in her knickers and camisole. She wrapped the fur, smelling comfortably of Walter, around herself and turned around. Walter was watching her with the strangest expression. He'd been watching her the entire time. She hissed at him, outraged.

-no marks. Any fresh ones, that is. So I won't have to kill him after all?-

-how dare you!-

-or are there no marks because you didn't fight him?- She wound up and tried to punch him. He stepped smoothly aside and caught her wrist –that was unfair- he soothed –unfair of me to say that. I know you're a good girl, a good Christian girl- and the words, gentle, appropriate and utterly cruel dug into her skin with hooked barbs. She sank backwards onto the lounge and he went to his knees beside her. He took her first one arm and then the other, pushing the fur aside so he could check each limb thoroughly. He said –that's strange. I didn't expect a bruise like that to fade so fast-

-bruise?- she frowned –there were a lot of bruises. From the car crash-

-not from the car crash. From our first night here. I squeezed your forearm, tight as I could-

-no you didn't-

-I'm certain I did-

-you must have dreamed it-

He took her chin firmly between thumb and forefinger and stared hard into her eyes –I held you tight enough to break bones. I had my arms around you-

-you were dreaming. You did nothing like that-

He kept staring and she met his gaze calmly. Walter had helped raise her. Walter had been there nearly every day of her life since she was born. Walter thought he knew her better than anyone else in the world. Walter was forgetting that she could, after two years of being Organisation Director, stare down the most powerful men in Britain, the Queen of England and all her advisors, and a monstrous immortal that could read her mind. Walter saw tiredness, anger and fear, yes, fear, but he saw nothing that she didn't want him to see. He didn't see what he had done to her, that first night they slept next to each other. Something stone in his face suddenly broke and she yelped a protest as he pulled her roughly into an embrace and squeezed tight.

-let go! Let go!-

He stroked the hair back from her face and let her go. She glowered at him.

-what the hell do you think you're doing, Walter?-

He smiled cheerfully and unzipped the medical kit –my apologies. Swept up in the moment, I'm afraid. I was quite concerned that you'd gotten lost in the snow and that- he grinned –I was out of a job. Your hand, please- the bandage was already sodden, no need to soak the fabric to pull it loose from the wound. She watched curiously as he sniped at the material with a pair of tiny scissors.

-doesn't this hurt?-

-not at all-

He pulled the bandage away from the wound. It was red and swollen, pus filled blisters, the skin split and gaping. It looked horrific and smelled worse.

-when did you last clean this?-

-yesterday- she felt languid and stunned –I could swear that I did…it's so hard to keep track of time here-

He watched her face, and grimly pressed down. She felt nothing at first and then the pain suddenly flared into life and she gasped as the whole world turned white as snow. She didn't resist when he tugged her down to the floor. She didn't resist when he laid his body across hers, put her arm at a right angle to her shoulder and slipped seamlessly into a wrist-lock to hold her completely still. And when he tore the edges of the flesh apart to reach the infection deep inside, she passed out.

She was walking through a desert, the white sun blazing down until her skin dried and cracked and turned into parchment. Her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth and whenever she tried to swallow razorblades sliced the inside of her throat. She was so hot. The air was thick and warm and it felt like she swimming through blood. Her parchment skin scraped against her tender flesh and she thought that if she could only take it off, take it off like she would a shirt then she could have some respite from the heat and the chafing. So, she seized the edges and tugged until it came off as one piece and tangled around her shoulders and her arms. She struggled, whimpering. She was trapped. She started to panic. Something grabbed her wrists and held them tight together over her head. She almost cried with gratitude when her parchment shirt was loosened, tugged away from the new and delicate skin that had formed underneath. Something cupped her breast, cold, it was cold which felt good but then it squeezed hard and that hurt. She heard a voice, coming from a long way away -how dare you!- and a heavy thud and then her parchment shirt was roughly put back on her, strong hands easily knocking aside her failing limbs.

Cold, blessed cold on her mouth. Cold water running across her tongue and she swallowed quickly, desperately wanting more and she drank until her stomach croaked and gargled. She was pushed down onto soft desert sands and more sweet cold was laid across her forehead and wrists. The bright desert spun around her and began to darken and she said –Daddy? - as the sun set behind the dunes and she slept.

She woke. The house was dark and silent apart from the glow and crackle of the fire. She sat up, shaking with effort. Her head swam and she leaned against the headrest, wondering why she was sleeping on the lounge and not in the nest of blankets and furs that she shared with Walter. Everything was so quiet –Walter?- she stood and felt her knees literally knock together as she wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. She staggered into the kitchen. Empty. On the potbelly sat a saucepan full of water. She found a grubby glass and filled it. The water was warm but it was soothing, and sweet in the way that only melted snow could be. She lit a candle, clumsy and one-handed. Everything seemed distant and surreal and she supposed, in a dazed sort of way, that she was dreaming, dreaming of being in a house, snowbound with four men and a hound from hell, with her as Goldilocks or Little Red while the men were the huntsmen and the woodsmen and the big bad wolves, all rolled into one wretched mess.

She shuffled her way out of the kitchen and to the foot of the stairs –hello? Is anyone there?- the door on the landing was open and so she climbed up. She put her hand on the banister for support, quickly snatching it back and cradling it against her chest when pain shot up her arm. There was an urge to pull at the bandages so she could see what was underneath but, dazed as she was, she knew better than to actually do that and concentrated instead on the stairs, one at a time, leaning against the wall and resting at every second or third one. It seemed like forever until she reached the landing. The lair of the three bears. Dim light filtered through the single window that was only partially covered by the snow drifts. Three beds, each a rucked up mess of greying sheets and shabby blankets smelling strongly of unwashed people.

With sudden clarity she thought –I'm not dreaming- she was awake and alone in the house, and somewhere outside was Walter and a vampire and three brother hunters. She teetered to the window. In the dim light outside, the snow falling soft and thick, she could just make out many pairs of legs moving in what could only be a deadly kind of dance.

She threw off the blanket and stumbled out of the room, barely stopping herself from pitching headfirst down the stairs. From the pile in front of the fire she rescued her fur coat and pushed her trembling arms inside, growling whenever her bandages caught. She had to sit down to pull her boots on and she snarled with impatience as she tried to force her mittens onto her shaking hands.

She yanked open the door and scrabbled up through the tunnel. She was soaked with sweat before she went more than a couple of metres and she shivered even though she didn't feel especially cold. It was an effort, she'd never realised how much she took for granted being healthy and able to move her limbs in the way she wanted too and when she finally slid out the other end she lay there for a moment, gasping helplessly. Through the curtain of the falling snow she could hear muffled thuds and sharp exclamations, Walter's voice silky with menace. She picked herself up and struggled to the side of the house. The wolves formed a strange kind of audience, arrayed in a circle around the fighting men. One by one they flicked their ears at her approach and then looked away, disinterested. Only the creamy bitch that had been her rescuer paid any attention to her. It whined in greeting, mercifully free of any lechery, and when she teetered to a stop it came to lie at her feet.

In the crude arena before her the fight was almost over. Walter, with his strange sense of honour, was fighting barehanded. An old man, effectively blind in one eye and his face still stained muddy with old bruises, beating the crap out of three fit men in the prime of their lives. Periodically one of these would stagger to his feet, attempt a feeble swing of his fist and would be soundly slapped back to the ground. She couldn't help but notice that Eldest's trousers were stained with wet blood and that the churned-up snow was an almost uniform pink.

Walter glowered at her as she approached but when he spoke his voice was respectful enough –you are unwell. You should be resting-

-what are you doing, Walter? We are guests here-

The old man's mouth thinned and he nudged one of the brothers with his foot. Youngest responded by rolling into a tighter ball and groaning –Integra, forgive me for being blunt. These men are deviants. They have tried to take advantage of you, firstly with your relative…inexperience, and then of your illness-

-considering the circumstances, perhaps it's understandable-

-you are mistaken- said Walter flatly.

-this is an incredibly stressful situation for everyone. People do stupid things under stress-

-forgive me, but their behaviour is simply unjustified. What they were planing to do- he stopped, obviously uncomfortable.

-was the same thing you did to me?- was what she wanted to say, was going to say, opened her mouth to say, but at the very last moment she snapped her jaws shut so fast her teeth clicked, because the words that actually formed on her tongue were very, very different. She blinked, shocked at herself, because that accusation, red raw and bleeding and deliberately buried, was nothing compared to what had been about to leap out of her mouth –just how well did you know my mother anyway?- She shook her head to clear it and sucked in a great chest full of freezing air. Finally she pointed at Eldest –what happened to him?-

-a wolf bit him-

-when?- Walter stared at her, saying nothing. Eventually she understood –oh- she said –oh- and she looked away because the expression on the retainer's face was something very close to compassion and it hurt. There was a crunch of snow as Middle struggled to his knees. He spat blood and stared at her with blind hatred.

-stricată- he hissed – stricată- and Walter kicked him in the teeth.

-ill-mannered fellow-

She felt it before she heard it. One by one the wolves raised their heads and gazed at the sky; a hundred leathery wings, beating all at once. A swarm of bats, tiny horseshoes and massive flying foxes came swooping through the falling white. They swept past her, ruffling her hair and furs as they swirled into a mass in the centre of Walter's arena. The three brothers scrabbled frantically, trying to get their abused limbs to carry them to safety as the mass of black and wings condensed and became Alucard. The vampire lent down and scooped up a handful of bloody snow. He took a bite and crunched –what did I miss?- he asked, looking around. Youngest screamed. Eldest babbled words that were either prayers or obscenities, or perhaps both. Middle curled up into a ball. Walter cracked his knuckles and looked smug –now can I eat them?- asked Alucard plaintively.

-no!- she turned on her heel and stalked off. She made precisely three steps before her knees buckled under her. Without so much as a by-your-leave Walter picked her up and carried her to the tunnel entrance. She was so tired that she didn't protest, and while they waited for Alucard to clear the snow enough to make an opening large enough for the pair of them, she fell asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Through her mother's garden she walked, the roses that the gardeners kept religiously pruned blooming an insolent and wounding scarlet. Naked men and women cavorted through the beds, laughing and speaking in a language she couldn't understand. The hum of the bees filled the air and she realised that they were singing a song she barely recognised, in Walter's voice. She opened her eyes, fumbling instinctively for her glasses. He put them into her hand and she pushed them onto her nose, blinking in the dim light –are you thirsty, my lady? Hungry?-

-no-

He bowed politely and sat back down beside the fire. He resumed brushing one of the coats, combing the fur with his fingers until the dust came out and the matted clumps loosened and lay flat. The sound of his humming wasn't entirely unpleasant. She looked around. In the air the sharp smell of urine, the three brothers, still in their bright heavy parkers and huddled in a corner. They no longer resembled bears so much as they did three frightened neon sheep. The hellhound sat in front of them, blinking its six eyes benignly. It flicked an ear in her direction –these three raped a girl- it said into her head –they lured her into their house and gave her alcohol until she vomited-

She closed her eyes –I don't want to hear it-

-she was your age-

-I don't want to hear it-

Silence. Walter finished with the coat and went to hang it on the hooks. He returned with the other and spread it out across his knees. The scarf across his face was gone and he wore a pair of glasses instead.

-is your eye better?-

-yes- he looked at her and smiled –I think you really should eat. Are you sure you're not hungry?-

-I suppose -

He retuned with food and water and she took her spoon and swirled it into the bowl of thick venison stew. The smell was pleasant and woke her appetite and she ate it with far more enthusiasm than she thought she would. The hellhound abandoned its place in front of the brothers and padded, claws clicking, across the timber floor to the rug in front of the fire. It circled twice before dropping comfortably to the floor –I still think you should let me eat them-

-I'll decide what you eat and don't eat-

The hellhound flicked its ears disdainfully- indeed, Master-

She set the bowl aside and sighed as she sipped from her glass of water. At last she said –servant, report-

The hellhound grinned–master, I am delighted to tell you two things that will doubtless be of interest to you. One is that the government of this delightful little country has finally succeeded in squashing the rebel group that attempted to bury you in that avalanche, and that you may not fear murderers slipping through the forest in search of your corpse. Or Walter's for that matter- the Hellsing family retainer smiled beatifically, as if to say that he personally had never feared anything in his entire life –the other is that the blizzard is going to end, very soon. The loyal members of the Hellsing Organisation have a helicopter prepped and sanding by. They have pinpointed the signal of Walter's little homing device and will be here as soon as the snow clears enough for them to fly-

-and when will this be?-

-a matter of hours. Five at the absolute maximum, probably less-

It took her a while to realise that she was laughing.

The time passed surprisingly quickly. She was still ill and shaky enough to doze. When she wobbled through to the chemical toilet the brothers, huddled pathetically in their corner, stared at her with bloodshot eyes. As she walked past she heard one of them mutter -vrăjitoare- and she didn't need her retainer or her vampire to know that the word must mean –witch- and she did nothing except shrug because when you got right down to it they were right. After that Walter sat her down in front of the fire where the bulk of the lounge sat between them and their prisoners and blocked prying eyes. She rested her head on her knees and sighed with pleasure as he finished combing out her matted hair. The hellhound crooned –pretty Master- she jerked as though she'd been bitten and Walter said nothing, just kept combing. He fashioned a serviceable French braid and tied it off with string, telling her to stay still while he went to get the medical kit. She heard a yelp and a thud as he kicked one of the brothers and she stared into the fire until her retinas burned.

-look at this- Walter unwrapped the bandages from her hand and showed her the edges of her wound, skin puckered in strange and swirling patterns –this is keloid. Keloid scaring. I'm sorry, but I think it's going to spread- she closed her eyes. She didn't want to know. He wrapped her hand back up and she crawled back to her comfortable lounge and went to sleep.

The sound of the helicopter. She opened her eyes and sat up. The hellhound yawned and stretched, claws lengthening to become fingers and muzzle pushing back to become a face. Alucard climbed to his feet, and offered to help her climb to hers. She scowled at him and he shrugged, went to herd their unwilling hosts, pacing at their heels until they were forced through the door and outside. Walter was much more leisurely. He stood by while she pulled on her boots and helped her with her coat and mittens. He donned his own coat, and, taking her elbow in one hand and his valise in the other, guided her to the door. She hesitated at the threshold looking back once. Then she set her shoulders and walked up the ramp of compacted snow, into the blaze of lights and noise.

-sir Integral!-

-sir Integral!-

Without so much as an apology grinning soldiers grabbed her by the shoulders and lifted her up the rest of the way. She was surrounded by her men, jubilant at the return of their leader; never mind that at her tender age they saw her merely as a figurehead. They shouted greetings and slapped Walter on the back. Young Sergent Gareth even ventured to shake her hand, obviously surprised at his own daring. Commander Ferguson ripped off a perfect formal salute.

-glad to have you back with us, marm. What should we do with the prisoners?-

Youngest, Middle, Eldest. Proud hunters. The three bears. They knelt in a row with their hands behind their heads. Youngest and Middle kept their eyes on the ground. Eldest alone defiant, staring at her with naked hatred even as he cried and clear mucus dripped from his nose. It was obvious they knew that they were about to die. The soldiers were suddenly silent, immaterial, ghosts. She drifted through the ranks. She whispered, knowing that the humans would not hear her above the sound of the helicopter –Alucard?-

-yes, Master?-

-what you told me. Was it the truth?-

-yes, Master-

-I will not have you lying to me, Servant-

-I did not lie. I told the truth. The guilt is there, writhing inside his skull like a worm- he rapped the top of Youngest's head with his knuckles.

-and the others?-

-master?-

-do they feel guilty?-

He looked at her. He seemed almost sad –master, they do not-

-why not?-

-I don't know. I really don't-

She shut her eyes. The lids stung and she wiped them angrily with the back of her mitten –who was she? Who was the girl?-

-she was their cousin-

-and she trusted them-

-yes-

She shuddered. She clenched her fist, concentrating hard on the sharp thread of pain that ran up her arm. She said –deal with them- and she turned her back. She walked to the massive troop helicopter, surrounded by the members of the Hellsing Organisation. Walter jumped into the helicopter first and helped her up. As soon as she was in her seat by the window Ferguson gave the word and the soldiers crowded in beside her. Directly in front of her was Gareth. The commander himself sat beside her. She fumbled with the headphones and spoke without realising –are all men- and stopped, blushing furiously as Gareth and Ferguson, the only ones who had their headphones plugged in, stared at her.

-you were saying, Sir Integral?-

-never mind-

The scream of the blades grew louder, and she did not look out, did not look out into the dark and the snow, did not look out to see Alucard watching her go.

The trip to the landing pad was surprisingly quick. The ministers and ambassadors had the wits to spare her platitudes and excuses, to merely shake her hand and escort her to the waiting cars. Walter managed to get himself placed in a different car to hers. She was quite sick of the sight of him and she was certain that the feeling was mutual. Instead Ferguson and Gareth sat across from her and watched her as she watched the landscape roll by, eager for the sight of something not restricted by walls. She found herself daydreaming of wolves and, for some strange reason, wolf cubs with coats of pale cream and iron grey. Ferguson waited politely, and then, when he realised that she wasn't going to talk, cleared his throat gently.

-sir Integra, may I ask, what happened while you were in that house?-

She said nothing and fixed her eyes firmly on the forest rushing past her window. After a while she spoke. She said – are all men…are all men- she stammered to a stop, embarrassed and ashamed. Gareth, confronted with the sight of his idol bungee jumping off her pedestal, gaped stupidly and tried to melt through the seat. Peter Ferguson reached forward and gently touched her knee.

-not at all. By far and away the vast majority of men and women in this world are decent human beings. It's just that the ones that aren't can make a dreadful mess - he hesitated –and if you'll forgive me, the ones that surround you aren't the best of examples. Walter Dornez is not- he sniffed disdainfully – a solider-

She felt a small smile tug at the corners of her mouth, and it pulled until it became a big smile, then a grin. She broke out into hysterical giggles and tears streamed down her face. Ferguson wordlessly offered her handkerchief and she took it gratefully.

At the hotel they escorted her to her room. A doctor was waiting for her there, along with some basic luggage and a big vase of cut flowers. He inspected and cleaned her wound and after that she had the exquisite pleasure of throwing him out on his backside. She went and undressed and sat in the shower for a full hour, watching her skin turn bright pink and rubbing lotions and creams into her hair. She ordered fresh fruit and salads and chocolate pudding and while she waited for it all to arrive, she took the big vase of cut flowers into the bathroom and tore the blossoms to pieces, one by one, and flushed the shredded petals down the loo. She ate herself silly. She bundled herself up in soft, comfortable clothing and sat outside on the freezing balcony, just for the hell of it. When her feet got cold she went to bed and left the lights blazing, just because she could.

In the middle of the night she leapt up and ran into the bathroom to vomit convulsively. She went back to bed only to be wakened a few hours later by astonishingly painful menstrual cramps. She attended to herself as best she could, swallowing the painkillers that the doctor had left for her hand, and while she waited for the pills to kick in she hobbled to the balcony, opening the glass doors and shivering in the freezing cold.

Next to no moon, and since the hotel was in the middle of the countryside, no electric lights, either. On the balcony railing was a gift for her: a snowball, perfectly spherical and just the right size and weight for her hand. She picked it up, turning it over, feeling her fingers begin to go numb. She considered it. Then she wound up and threw it, hard as she could, into the darkness.

There was the sound of a muffled thump and a playful yelp. The sound of a hound barking in cheerful invitation to play. Unwillingly, despite the pain from her gut, she smiled.

END

_My sincerest apologies to any speakers of the Romanian language. This story was originally posted at the Brothel, as part of my _Imperfection _series. It has been edited to render it appropriate for this site. _


End file.
